1  

The Savior of the Wizarding World had a cold. Not a scratchy throat, slight headache, little cough type of cold, but a full-blown head-in-a-vise, dripping nose, chest full of phlegm, wishing he were dead sort of cold.

Harry Potter fully blamed the cold on his craving for a Muggle cheeseburger that had prompted him to leave Number 12, Grimmauld Place for a local fast food chain. A place obviously crawling with germs.

To make matters worse, Harry had not had a cold since before his eleventh birthday. Ten fabulous, cold-free years had caught up to him in one fell swoop. Due to lack of colds, he therefore had no cold remedies. No Pepperup Potion—cure for the common cold. Not even Muggle cough syrup.

Harry laid on his bed for half a day until he—for a brief, desperate moment—nearly sent Kreacher out to fetch him a potion. Wisdom penetrated the cold-induced fog in the nick of time before he called the house-elf. Kreacher required a massive amount of detailed instruction to perform the slightest task.

"Fetch me a Pepperup Potion" would likely result in Kreacher jaunting off to Bermuda for six weeks before returning with said potion. Harry didn't have the energy to think of every contingency and provide reliable instruction. In the end, he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to go and get one himself.

Harry dragged on some clothing and Apparated to Diagon Alley, which turned out to be a shockingly bad idea. His headache increased by massive proportions and he felt both weak and nauseous. He leaned against a nearby wall until the urge to vomit passed, and then he continued to the Apothecary.

A chime sounded when Harry walked in and the usually sweet tones sounded like hell's doorbell. Harry staggered to the counter.

"Can I help you?"

Even in his pathetically ill state, Harry recognized the hated voice. He clawed his way over the counter and wrapped his hands around the despised neck of Severus Snape. He later blamed his cold on the fact that he completely forgot he was a wizard and carried a wand capable of inflicting several dozen punishing spells.

Snape, however, did not forget, and Harry promptly found himself immobilized while Snape extracted his neck and stepped back, gasping for air.

"Bloody hell, P… P… patron," Snape rasped. Harry's eyes glared balefully at the former Death Eater. Snape rubbed his throat. He looked somewhat different from the last time Harry had seen him…over five years ago? On the tower at Hogwarts when Snape had foully murdered Albus Dumbledore. It was no wonder Snape had changed. For one thing, he had washed his hair. He also wasn't dressed in black. His robes were… magenta?

"I am going to release you, sir, upon your word that you will not try to harm me," Snape said in what appeared to be a reasonable tone. Harry thought he might explode from a sneeze that tickled his nose, but could not be released due to the Full-Body Bind.

Snape cancelled the spell and Harry collapsed in a violent fit of sneezing. When he finished, he noticed a handkerchief dangling from Snape's long fingers. Harry reluctantly snatched it and gave Snape a venomous look.

"I should kill you!" Harry snarled, but miserably blew his nose instead.

"Sir, I don't understand," Snape said. Harry gaped at him for a moment.

"You killed Dumbledore. Don't try to tell me you don't remember. You joined Voldemort. You conveniently disappeared before the war. You utterly despise me. Is any of this ringing a bell?"

Snape drew himself up haughtily.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I recently moved here from Denmark and I certainly never killed anyone named Dumbledore. While I have heard of Voldemort, I would never have joined him. Reportedly, he was quite unhinged and evil. You must have me confused with someone else."

Harry sneered. "Nice try, but you are definitely Severus Snape."

Snape laughed. "Certainly not. My name is Rodney Snyder-Smythe. Apothecarist."

It took Harry a moment to apply the name "Rodney" to the wicked package that was Severus Snape, but even in magenta robes it simply wouldn't fit.

"Cut the crap, Snape. As soon as I leave here, I'm going to the Ministry of Magic and you are going to Azkaban."

The black eyes were fathomless.

"Poor sir seems to be very ill. Did you come for a potion, perhaps?"

Harry sneezed into the kerchief and stared at Snape through watery eyes.

"If you must know, I came here for a Pepperup Potion."

Snape tsked and managed to make the small noise sound smug.

"I'm sorry, sir. We're all out. It's been quite a nasty cold season."

Harry's jaw clenched.

"When will you have more?"

"Next Tuesday."

"Tuesday? My blood cold will be gone on its own by then!"

Harry's outburst brought on a coughing fit and he clutched the side of the counter until it passed.

"Poor dear boy. Let me get you a cup of tea."

The incongruity of Snape calling him a "poor dear boy" combined with Mr. Magenta Robes flouncing to the back room was so un-Snapelike that Harry actually began to wonder if he could be Rodney Snyder-Smythe. Perhaps he was the victim of a memory charm? Harry located a chair and sank into it.

Snape returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of tea that he placed in Harry's hands. Harry gazed into the cup suspiciously before fixing his glare on Snape.

"What's in it? Poison? Veritaserum? Memory-block potion?"

"Oolong and a hint of Darjeeling, I believe," Snape said dryly.

"I'm taking you to the Ministry," Harry snapped.

"That won't be necessary. I just saw the Minister pass by a moment ago. Shall I fetch him for you?"

Harry got up, slammed his tea on the counter, and rushed to the door.

"Minister!" he shouted. Rufus Scrimgeour halted and stared at him. His lip curled in distaste.

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes. Severus Snape is in the Apothecary! You need to arrest him, immediately!"

"Severus Snape? Are you certain?"

"Of course!"

Scrimgeour hurried into the shop.

"Good afternoon, Minister," said Snape.

"Afternoon, Snyder-Smythe," Scrimgeour replied. "Potter, here, says he saw Severus Snape."

"Who?"

"Oh, yes. I forgot. You weren't around during the war. Severus Snape. Death Eater. Murderer. Nasty sort."

"Never heard of him."

"ARE YOU COMPLETELY DERANGED?" Harry yelled and instantly regretted it when the pain in his throat actually brought tears to his eyes. He put stiffened fingers against his aching temples.

"Snyder-Smythe, is Potter bothering you? He has an overactive imagination, at times."

"You know what? I don't even care. I'm going home," Harry said. He had no intention of involving himself in whatever twisted scenario the Minister and Snape had going. He would deal with it later, when he felt better.

"Minister, allow me to escort Potter home. He is obviously very ill," Snape offered.

"Forget it." Harry pulled out his wand and backed toward the door, where Scrimgeour's latest follower nearly bowled him over. Colin Creevey's cologne assaulted Harry moments before Colin's hand darted out to shake Harry's hand, heedless of the wand clutched therein. At twenty, Colin was nearly as buoyantly exuberant as he had been at eleven.

"Harry Potter! I haven't seen you in ages! You must come by for dinner and catch up on old times!" Colin pumped Harry's hand vigorously and the combination of motion and nauseating fumes overwhelmed Harry beleaguered senses. He felt blackness closing in on him.

The last thing he saw was Colin's worried face hovering over him as he hit the floor.

ooOoo

Harry woke up in his own bed, which was reassuring, but he was completely naked, which was not. A single lit candle at his bedside dispelled the gloom. He glanced at his watch to find it was nearly 7 p.m.

A movement drew his attention and he watched in alarm as Snape's magenta-clad figure detached itself from the shadows.

"Mr. Potter, you've decided to rejoin the living. You must be hungry. I made you some chicken soup."

Harry watched him impassively while he tried to process the incomprehensible image of Severus Snape making chicken soup. Maybe using a live chicken. And eye of newt, wing of bat.

Snape seated himself on the bed next to Harry, conjured a wooden tray, and set a large bowl before Harry, who gazed at it suspiciously while searching for random newt eyes. It smelled delicious, which merely made him more wary. Snape chuckled, a bizarre sound that Harry did not recall ever hearing from him before.

"Oh yes, I forgot. You think I'm some horrid minion of evil who would poison your soup." Snape picked up the spoon, leaned over the tray, and slurped a large spoonful of broth. He gave a sigh of pleasure.

"Practically perfect. It could, perhaps, use a hint of marjoram, but you appeared to be out."

Marjoram. Harry wasn't certain he had even heard of it, but he was willing to bet such a thing had never resided in the kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place. He was starved, however, and willing to concede the soup wasn't poisoned. He even began to consider that Severus Snape had been Imperiused to believe he was Rodney Snyder-Smythe, Apothecarist, soup-maker, and wearer of magenta.

Harry ate the soup. It was fabulous. Snape (Rodney?) disturbingly remained on the bed and watched Harry eat every drop. Harry leaned back against the pillows when he finished.

"Where are my clothes?"

"You were burning with fever. I thought it best to remove them," Snape replied as he vanished the bowl and tray before tucking the covers up to Harry chin.

"Allof them?"

"Go to sleep now, delightful lad," Snape said and gave Harry's head a tousle. Harry yawned hugely and realized there must have been a sleeping potion in the soup.

Either I'm dreaming or I've gone stark raving nutters, he thought as not-Snape blew out the candle and left Harry in the dark. Either way, he was quickly asleep.

2

Harry woke in the morning to the disturbing smell of food cooking. Disturbing because Harry lived alone. His head still felt stuffed with wet rags and, if anything, his headache was worse than before. The pain only increased at the strong possibility that Rodney-Snape had not left.

His suspicions were confirmed when said person strolled into Harry's room with a tray of food. His robes were different, so apparently he had gone home at some point. Harry did not consider the buttercup yellow robes to be an improvement, although Snape's complexion was no longer sallow and he actually sport quite a healthy-looking tan. Bloody hell, maybe he really was Rodney Snyder-Smythe, Apothecarist from Denmark.

Rodney-Snape set the tray down on Harry's lap and pressed a palm against Harry's forehead.

"You are still quite ill."

"Yes. I should probably go to St. Mungo's," Harry decided.

"No good, dear boy. I dropped by there this morning to get you a Pepperup Potion. Turns out it would do you no good. It seems you have the Bavarian Flu that's been going around. St. Mungo's is full to bursting with poor souls in your condition. All we can do is keep you here and try some home remedies."

"Bavarian Flu? I've never heard of the—what do you mean 'home remedies?' And why are you even here? You hate me."

"Of course I don't hate you, Mr. Potter. In fact, I feel somewhat responsible, since I wasn't able to help you when you came to my shop, as well as my unfortunate resemblance to this Snape fellow nearly bringing on an apoplectic attack. No, I aim to see you well."

He poked a finger dramatically at Harry's bare chest with each of his last three words. Harry watched the long fingers carefully and recalled the dozens of times he had likened them to claws. Well, Snape's hands, damn it.

Harry absently began to eat and mentally added another tally to the "Rodney" column, because it was inconceivable that Snape would be as fabulous a cook as Harry's current companion. The bacon was crisped to perfection; the eggs were fluffy delight; the toast and marmalade exquisite. Harry did not even care if the food had been poisoned—as a last meal it would more than suffice.

After the tray and dishes were removed, Harry lay back with the expectation of sinking into yet another healing sleep, but Rodney-Snape had other ideas.

"Shall we try a home remedy?" he suggested brightly.

"No."

"Don't be silly. You're clearly miserable. A nice mud massage with healing loam from Cork should be just the thing. It will draw out the fever and relieve all your minor aches and pains."

Harry's skin actually crawled at the thought of receiving any type of massage from Severus Snape. Or Rodney-Snape. Or Rodney Snyder-Smythe, or whatever the person sitting on his bed called himself.

On the other hand, he did feel quite feverish and his every joint was throbbing with a dull ache that constant lying abed only seemed to worsen.

"Here, just try a small sample!" Rodney-Snape said and conjured a small bowl of thick, greenish-black mud. He immediately plopped some of it on Harry's wrist and used both hands to work it in. Harry recoiled; expecting it to smell like a swamp, but the substance had a pleasant, earthy scent with a hint of spice. Even more surprising was the pleasant tingling, warming sensation on Harry's wrist.

"Nice, isn't it, Potter? Now, roll over and let me put some on your back to relieve that wicked congestion."

Harry hesitated for a long moment, but he did not see any real harm in coating his back, since the mud really did seem to have healing properties. Additionally, Rodney-Snape had been given dozens of opportunities to kill or maim Harry, if such had been his intent. Harry obediently rolled over and sighed in contentment when Rodney-Snape produced a large tub of warm mud and slathered it all over Harry's back.

It felt heavy and prickly, but in a nice way, particularly when Rodney-Snape began to rub it into aching muscles with strong fingers. Harry felt himself relaxing and nearly dozing off. He barely noticed when the blankets were dragged back and more clay was applied to his lower back and buttocks. Rodney-Snape's hands continued to knead his flesh, spreading the healing concoction over Harry's thighs and calves.

Rodney-Snape's hands traveled back up Harry's legs, first one and then the other, working in the mud. The warmth seeped into Harry, who nearly sighed with pleasure. Suddenly, the fingers massaging his buttocks slipped down to slide over his testicles. Harry jerked in electrified surprise, hoping it had been accidental. It was then that he noticed he had a bloody throbbing hard-on. Damn, how desperate was he if he could be turned on by a mud massage from a Snape look-alike?

He paused to consider. How long had it been since his beloved Ginny had run off with that fucking Slytherin bastard Draco Malfoy? Nearly a year? That long?

Rodney-Snape's hands were back to working on Harry's shoulders. He gave them a final pat. Harry's relief was short-lived.

"Time to do the front. Over we go."

Harry froze. "No! This is fine."

"Don't be shy. I've got a John Thomas of my own, you know."

Yes, but yours isn't stiff as a board at the moment, Harry thought. At least, he bloody well hoped it wasn't!

"I'd rather not."

Rodney-Snape tsked thoughtfully.

"I think I see the problem. The more… stimulating properties of the clay have left you with an embarrassing problem?"

Stimulating properties? Thank God! Harry nodded with relief. It hadn't been the massage at all. It was simply the mud.

"Easily fixed. Here is modesty cloth. I will close my eyes; you turn over and cover yourself."

A soft cloth dropped into Harry's hand. With a glance over his shoulder to make sure Rodney-Snape's eyes were fully shut—they were—he flipped over and draped the fabric over his hips. Unfortunately, the light silken material seemed to enhance rather than conceal Harry's engorged member. Before he could adjust it, Rodney-Snape's eyes snapped open.

"Bloody hell, Potter! If that were mine, I'd display it for the world to see! I'd never wear clothing." He chortled, a sound no Snape would ever have made. Without further ado, he glopped a double-handful of mud onto Harry's chest and began again.

Harry did notice an improvement in his breathing, but the 'stimulating properties' in the clay seemed to be working overtime. Harry's entire body became incredibly sensitive. Rodney-Snape's strokes across his skin felt like caresses as he kneaded calves and thighs, ever so slowly working his way upward.

Harry began to absently wish Rodney-Snape would tear the cloth away and slather mud over his rigid cock because he was about to go half-mad with the need for release. Rodney-Snape's fingers reached the upper portion of his thighs and they dragged over Harry's testicles once more, fairly causing Harry to leap out of his skin. He noticed with dismay that his breathing was uneven and his body trembled.

"Dear me, you seem to be in quite a state," Rodney-Snape chuckled. "It can't be healthy to keep it all bottled up, Mr. Potter. Let me assist you."

His mud-covered hand slipped under the silk and glided up Harry's shaft with a gentle pressure. Harry convulsed.

"No!" he cried in alarm, but his outburst was ignored. The long fingers wrapped around him completely. Harry was already so close to orgasm that it only took a few competent strokes to send him over the edge. He cried out—a sound of mingled relief and revulsion as he spasmed uncontrollably beneath the hand of his benefactor. Harry threw an arm across his eyes to block out the sight. The man had better notbe Severus Snape or Harry was going to locate his wand and Avada Kedavra himself at earliest opportunity.

Rodney-Snape released him and Harry heard him moving away toward the tub in the corner.

"There, now, isn't that better?" His tone was carefully neutral. "I'll draw you a nice warm bath."

Harry stayed where he was, covered in mud and mortification, until the water was ready.

"I'll leave you to your bath, Mr. Potter, while I fetch some clean linen for your bed. He went out and Harry gratefully bolted for the hot water, making a strong note not to allow any more home remedies from Rodney Snyder-Smythe. Although, if the truth be told, he really did feel quite a lot better.

Harry scrubbed at the mud while Rodney-Snape used his wand to unmake and remake the bed before retreating downstairs. Harry made quick work of washing and toweled off speedily before yanking on a pair of pajama bottoms. He debated going downstairs and tossing Rodney Snyder-Smythe out of his house. He really hoped never to see the man again, particularly after that embarrassing incident.

A delightful smell wafted to his nose and he sighed, realizing that Rodney was cooking again. Harry supposed he could throw him out after lunch. He crawled back into bed.

A short time later, Rodney returned with yet another tray.

"I've made you some tea and biscotti."

Harry willingly drank the tea and ate the biscotti, which was delectable—he tasted almonds and a hint of fruit—black currant? Rodney puttered around the room (dusting?) until Harry finished and then he returned to clear away the tray. Harry sighed in contentment and wondered if he should hire Rodney as a cook/butler.

As Rodney levitated the tray away, Harry's eyes narrowed as they fixed on his wand. He felt the blood drain instantly from his face and his eyes rose to meet the amused black gaze with dawning horror.

How many times had Harry seen that wand? Dozens, banging the side of Harry's cauldron as his potion-making skills were denounced; dozens more as it quivered before Harry's eyes while House points were deducted; several as it slashed through the air casting spells; and once when it shot a deadly burst of green light that killed Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape's wand.

Harry thought he might be sick.

"Itis you," he whispered in horror.

The old, familiar sneering smile was suddenly in place and the dark eyes glittered.

"Very good, Potter, although it took you quite a lot longer than even I expected. I suppose it's difficult to think on your own after relying on Granger to do it for you for so long."

Harry cast about for his wand, but the last time he saw it was at the Apothecary Shop. No doubt Snape had removed it for safekeeping.

"What are you doing here?" Harry snarled. "What the hell do you want?"

"Is that any way to talk to the man that has been selflessly nursing you back to health? And going to extraordinary lengths, I might add."

Harry's face flamed.

"Just kill me right now," he said. Snape reached out and patted Harry's cheek. Harry jerked away with a glare.

"I'm not here to kill you, Potter. I'm just here to keep an eye on you."

"Why? And what sort of game are you playing with the Ministry? You can't tell me Scrimgeour is not in on your little charade!"
"Of course he is. The Ministry devised the whole Rodney Snyder-Smythe persona, annoying though it might be. Severus Snape is officially dead."

"He'll be dead in reality once I finish with you," Harry warned. Snape heaved a sigh.

"Same old Potter. No vision. Everything is black or white."

"You killed Dumbledore!" Harry yelled. He wondered how to snatch the wand out of Snape's grip, but what then? He couldn't take Snape to the Ministry—obviously they were in on his scheme.

"He was dead already!" Snape growled with a flare of his old rage. "The stupid fool insisted on taking on one Horcrux alone, and then a second with a dimwitted fledgling wizard! The curse of the ring was affecting his system before he went and drank that potion from the cave. No one could have saved him."

"How did you know about the cave?" Harry demanded.

"Who do you think told him about it? I warned him not to go without me, but the imbecile never trusted me."

"With good reason! You were working for Voldemort!"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Don't be stupid, Potter. I was working for the Ministry the entire time. Why do you think I disappeared? I returned to Voldemort long enough to convince him I was loyal and then I returned to the Ministry to defeat him. I also gave you the information that allowed you to destroy the Horcruxes."

Harry was having difficulty processing the information through the curtain of rage that always clouded his vision when he thought of Dumbledore.

"I don't believe you!"

"You always were obtuse. Dumbledore's plans, Voldemort's plans, none of it mattered! What was important was that the Ministry survived! Can you even picture what would have happened if Voldemort had destroyed the Ministry? Do you think Dumbledore would have taken control? All he ever cared about was that stupid school!"

"That's not true!" Harry yelled, but his words rang hollow even to himself. After Fudge and Scrimgeour worked so hard to discredit Dumbledore, it was likely he would have been viewed with suspicion, at best, should he have tried to take control. He glared at Snape. "How could you be working for the Ministry the entire time? What branch?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but Snape actually grinned. Although not as sunny as "Rodney's" smile, it was far more pleasant than any expression Harry had seen on Snape prior to his disappearance.

"Not really. It's called the Department of Security Services. Top Secret, of course, and answerable only to the Minister of Magic."

"You were working for the Ministry while pretending to work for Dumbledore while pretending to be a double-agent for Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"Is your name really Severus Snape?"

"That's confidential."

"What are you doing here, then? I'm no threat to the Ministry."

"Actually, you are. The Ministry has been concerned with your… correspondence with Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry spat. "What does he have to do with the Ministry?"

"Quite a lot, actually."

"His money, you mean?"

"Indeed, Potter. How do you think your precious Auror friends and the Weasleys are paid? Private contributions account for quite a lot of funding."

"Private contributions? Call it what it is—bribery to sway policy in Malfoy's favor!"

"Gryffindors never quite manage to grasp the intricacies of politics," Snape said with a sigh. "Suffice it to say that Malfoy's relationship with the Ministry is mutually beneficial and we would all like to keep it that way."

"Well, I wouldn't."

"Which is why I am here to curtail any radical behavior on your part."

"I don't plan on doing anything radical to Malfoy."

"Really? Then how do you explain this?" Snape reached into a pocket of his happy yellow robes and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He began to read aloud.

"'Dear Self-Absorbed Cretin, you are the lowest form of life on the planet. I hope a rabid werewolf tears your innards from your body and devours your steaming corpse.' Or perhaps this one, 'Dear Mirror-Obsessed Arsehole, May you trip over your own ego and plummet into a bottomless pit.' That is a small sample of letters recently received by Draco Malfoy."

"Your point?" Harry asked.

"They were delivered by a white owl."

"Plenty of people have white owls," Harry commented. "Besides, they don't seem to be threats. Just very good ideas."

"The Ministry fears that you may stop waiting for a catastrophe to overcome Mr. Malfoy and take matters into your own hands."

"I defeated Voldemort. If I really wanted to kill Draco Malfoy he would already be styling his hair in hell."

"Perhaps you did not have the motivation."

"He stole my girlfriend! Isn't that motivation enough?"

"You obviously haven't heard the news."

"What news?" Harry snapped.

"Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley are to be married next month."

"What?" Harry bellowed. The outburst brought on a fit of coughing.

"Careful, Potter, or you'll force me to try another home remedy," Snape warned in silken tones.

"You are a foul, evil git!" Harry cried hoarsely. He would have climbed out of bed—he really needed to find his wand—but Snape hurried over and pressed him back with a hand on his chest. Harry smacked his hand away angrily.

"Calm down, Potter, this is exactly the behavior I was sent here to prevent."

"I'm perfectly calm!" Harry yelled. Snape sighed and produced a potion from his robes. He did not even bother to ask Harry to drink it; he merely stunned him and poured the potion down his throat. When released, Harry glared venomously at him.

"It will relax you. I'm going to check on my dough—it's rising. I'll be right back. Try not to do anything foolish while I'm gone." He paused before leaving Harry's bedside. "Oh, and Potter, there is one thing Rodney has been wanting to do."

"What's that?" Harry gritted, wishing Snape would get the hell out so Harry could find his wand and inflict some serious damage on the bastard.

"This," said Snape and gripped Harry's jaw in a strong hand before leaning down to plant a molten, tongue-laden kiss on Harry, whose overloaded mind could barely process this latest shock. Before he could react, Snape let go and sauntered toward the door. Harry grabbed for the nearest object—which turned out to be an empty vase on the bedside table. He lobbed it at Snape and it shattered against the doorframe, sending splinters over Snape's black hair and yellow robes.

"I hate you!" Harry screamed. Snape chuckled as he disappeared.

"Temper, temper." 

3 

The minute his footsteps faded from earshot, Harry climbed out of bed and stalked to the wardrobe. Or rather, he tried to stalk to the wardrobe, but it quickly turned into a stagger. He suddenly felt very dizzy and clutched the cabinet to keep from falling. Damn Snape and his potion! It will relax you. Well, he was relaxing to the point of immobility.

Harry clenched his teeth and wrenched open the wardrobe. After another dizzy spell, he located what looked like a T-shirt and dragged it on, not caring if it were backwards or even inside out. He found a pair of jeans, but had to practically crawl back to the bed to swap the pajama bottoms for the denim.

Once dressed, he sprawled on the bed for a moment until the room stopped spinning. After analyzing the sensations for a bit, he realized that what he felt was remarkably similar to being drunk. What sort of bizarre potion had Rodney fed to him?

Harry suddenly had a vision of Snape in his Hogwarts days, striding about in maniacal rage, but wearing sunshine yellow robes. He giggled, realizing Snape would never have been taken seriously. And baking? What the hell? Harry's amused grin disappeared when he remembered Snape kissing him—and more. Harry had always been perplexed by the potion's master, but now he was utterly baffled.

I need to check my dough. That struck Harry as riotous and he giggled again. Apparently, dough-checking did not take long, for Snape was back.

"Something amusing, Potter?"

Harry tried to retrieve his rage, but hilarity seemed to have taken over.

"You. Baking."

"What is amusing about baking?" Snape asked in a steely tone. Harry laughed again, picturing Snape drawing little happy faces on gingerbread men. Or, more likely, little angry grimaces and Death Eater tattoos. He collapsed on the bed in gales of merriment.

Snape watched his antics without expression for a moment.

"Perhaps you should lie down," he said when Harry had recovered a bit.

"Perhaps you should get the hell out of my house," Harry countered, sitting up and pointing in Snape's general direction. His head swam and his amusement evaporated.

"I can't do that, Potter. Orders."

"I don't think there are any orders," Harry snapped. "I think you made the whole thing up because you're completely depraved. You just came here to torture me with your… your damned home remedies!"

Snape sauntered closer and managed to look menacing even in buttercup yellow.

"Ah. That's what's really bothering you, isn't it?" He walked up to Harry, who knew he should stand, but he could not quite muster the ability. Snape kicked Harry's feet apart and stood directly between his knees. Harry raised his chin defiantly and stared evenly into the black eyes.

"What bothers you more, Potter? The fact that I pretended to be Rodney Snyder-Smythe or the fact that you enjoyed what Rodney did to you?"

Harry's face flamed in fury and he threw himself to his feet—an impulsive act that he instantly regretted due to Snape's immobile stance. Harry found himself literally pressed against Snape's entire torso and their faces were nearly touching. Harry had always thought of Snape as a towering menace, but Harry seemed to have gained a bit of height on him over the intervening years. Even so, their eyes were nearly level. Stormy green met placid black.

"Back for more, eh Potter?" Snape said with a wicked smile before he reached up and gripped Harry's hair in two tight fists. He tipped Harry's head and clamped his lips over Harry's once more.

Harry struggled, pressing both hands against Snape's hard chest, but the potion had sapped his strength. Snape's tongue lapped at his, sending unwilling shivers down Harry's spine. One of Snape's hands left his hair and followed the shiver down the curve of Harry's back to the base of his spine, where thrust Harry forward, grinding their bodies together. Harry felt Snape's arousal, huge and hard against his groin.

Impossibly, Harry felt his body respond. His head spun and he desperately wanted to escape, but Snape was implacable. His hand slid upward and tugged Harry's shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Harry shuddered when he felt Snape's warm hand slide over his bare skin in a smooth caress. God help him, but he was beginning to enjoy the sensations.

He seized that thought and suddenly relaxed against his tormentor. He felt Snape start in surprise for an instant. Harry reacted quickly, shoving hard against Snape's chest and propelling himself backward onto the bed. Off-balance, Snape released him and Harry continued his motion by rolling completely over the bed to stand, trembling and dizzy, on the far side. He stared at Snape wildly.

The hateful visage regarded him in amusement.

"A Gryffindor running away?" he taunted.

Harry was not disturbed by the comment. His emotions were too tangled. If Snape came around the bed toward him, he knew he would bolt like a frightened rabbit and Gryffindor be damned.

"Get back into bed and get some rest, Potter. Unless you prefer to continue this… discussion?"

Harry glared at him.

"I'll bring you something to eat in a bit," Snape said casually and took Harry's pajama bottoms from the back of the chair where Harry had tossed them. He threw them to Harry. "You might want to get more comfortable."

Snape pulled his wand from his robes and lifted it to cast a purplish glow that enveloped both Harry and the bed.

"There. Now, if you leave that bed, I will know it and I will come back up here and make things unpleasant for you." An evil grin curved his lips. "Delightfully unpleasant, I should say."

Harry swallowed hard at the images conjured by the threat. He was mortified that part of him found the idea enticing. He snatched the pajama bottoms, wincing when the quick movement nearly caused him to tumble onto the bed as a wave of vertigo assaulted him.

Snape went out without another word.

Harry sat weakly on the bed and wondered how the hell he had gotten into this insane situation. Oh yes, by sending hate letters to Malfoy. The bastard that was going to marry Harry's beloved Ginny. Harry sighed and peeled off his jeans. He put his pajama bottoms back on before climbing under the sheets, knowing he couldn't stave off another attack from Snape, at least until the potion wore off.

He lay back against his pillows and swore. He had no intention of hurting Draco Malfoy. There was no harm in wishing a vat of boiling oil would be dropped on his head, nor in hoping a pack of carnivorous wild hyenas would leap on him and crunch him into a mass of bloody, dead flesh. And where was the harm in putting his hopes and dreams on paper and sending them to the verminous, egocentric, girlfriend-stealing, no-hair-out-of-place, bastardly, Slytherin cur?

Harry scowled. He had only considered flying to Malfoy Manor and hexing Draco with a malefic skin disease, or testicular elephantitis, or a many-layered set of leprous tentacles. He had never actually done it! Fucking Ministry of Magic and their damned triple or quadruple agent, or whatever Snape's designation. Harry sighed. The bastard had worked for the Ministry all along. Harry had always thought the Ministry was nigh unto useless, but apparently that's what they wanted people to think while they manipulated things behind the scenes. Rather like Muggle governments, Harry supposed.

4 

Harry actually dozed off, likely a combination of the potion and emotional exhaustion. He slept until nearly dusk and awakened with the knowledge that he felt quite a lot better. The congestion in his chest had lessened and, although he had a slight headache, it was probably the result of too much lying down.

He was pleased to see no sign of his new nemesis. He swung his feet off the bed and changed back into his jeans while he considered possible locations for his wand. If it were in his room, he could Skywalker it back into his hand with an Accio. He tried it, just in case, with the expected negative results. Snape most likely had it locked up downstairs, or tucked into a pocket.

He quickly left the bed and headed for the stairs. If Snape had really set an alarm, it was apparently silent, for no whistles or bells sounded when he crossed the imaginary line of demarcation.

Harry tripped down the stairs, allowing himself the brief hope that Snape had departed. The hope was snuffed by the evil one himself appearing at the foot of the stairs.

"Am I allowed to use the lavatory?" Harry snapped.

Snape gestured expansively down the hall without comment. As Harry passed, he noticed Snape had changed his robes yet again. This time they were cobalt blue, a color that looked surprisingly… good on him. Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed that the idea had even occurred to him.

When Harry returned, he wandered into the kitchen, guided by his rumbling stomach. Once there, he cast his gaze about quickly, seeking his wand. Snape stood near the counter, putting the finishing touches on a pair of plates laden with food. He levitated them to the table, where flatware and wine goblets already waited.

Luckily, there were no lit candles, or it would have too closely resembled a romantic dinner for two. Harry obediently sat down without being asked—or commanded.

Snape had created a succulent meal of roast pheasant, fennel soup, and crusty fresh-baked bread. Harry didn't bother to comment on the food, as the idea of complimenting Snape grated his nerves.

When he had polished off most of his dinner and sipped carefully from his second glass of Chenin Blanc, he looked at Snape seriously.

"What do I have to do to convince you that I'm not going to hurt your precious Malfoy? I give you my word that I won't hunt the hellish bastard down, nor will I harm a single, perfect hair on his hateful, sneering head."

Snape smiled wryly. "Thank you, Potter! Your word will more than suffice, considering you've never lied to me before." His tone was over-the-top Rodney.

Harry set his jaw in annoyance, but Snape had a point. Harry had lied to him so often that telling the truth had actually become a chore.

"I'm not lying now," he snapped. "You are a bloody Legilimens; you can verify it."

"I haven't seen you in years, Potter. You may have miraculously become a skilled Occlumens during that time. A very slim chance, granted, but a chance, nevertheless."

"So you plan to live here forever?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"No, just until Malfoy is safely wed."

Harry gaped at him.

"You said that was a bloody month away!"

"So it is."

"No! Absolutely not! There is no way in hell you are staying in my house acting like some sort of sexual deviant for an entire month!"

Snape's black eyes glittered—a look Harry had seen countless times before. Even now, he felt a rush of trepidation at the sight. He half-expected Snape to leap across the table at him.

"If my presence is so detestable, perhaps you would be willing to make an Unbreakable Vow?"

Harry's eyes widened and he felt a wild flare of hope at the thought of being rid of Snape for good. He nearly agreed immediately, but paused to consider the implications.

"How would it be phrased, exactly? I can't promise to leave Malfoy untouched forever. What if Ginny comes to her senses and leaves him? What if he tries to become the new Voldemort and we have to kill him? What if the Ministry wises up and realizes the world would be a better place without him?"

Snape waved away his objections.

"Come up with whatever wording you like and I'll run it by the Minister. You can even make the vow to him, if you prefer. I'll be the Bonder."

Kreacher appeared suddenly at Harry's elbow, nearly startling him out of his skin. The house-elf seemed to find such antics amusing and popped up near Harry several times a week for the sole purpose of alarming him.

"Horrible, half-blood Master?" Kreacher asked. He muttered the first two words as though Harry could not hear them and stressed the word "Master" slightly.

"What is it, Kreacher?" Harry asked with a sigh. He had tried to find a way to rid himself of the house-elf, but there seemed to be no option other than freeing him. The very idea of a freed Kreacher flitting about was more terrifying than having the horrible thing stuck in the house where Harry could keep an eye on him.

"Should Kreacher clear the table now, Master?" the house-elf asked subserviently. Harry stared at him in amazement. Kreacher had never once cleared the table during the duration of Harry's residence.

"Do you know how?" Harry asked.

Kreacher hissed a sound that might have passed as a laugh on the fifth level of hell.

"Stupid, horrid Master makes a funny joke," Kreacher murmured. He waved a hand and the dishes disappeared, including the half-full wineglass in Harry's hand.

The house-elf was gone before Harry could comment. Snape smiled slightly and sipped from his goblet—the little bastard had left Snape's glass, of course.

"Kreacher seems to like you," Harry said. "Apparently evil attracts evil."

"Time for bed, Potter, before your mouth gets you into more trouble than you can handle."

Harry pushed his chair back.

"Fine. I'll come up with an Unbreakable Vow tonight and be rid of you tomorrow."

Snape smiled enigmatically. Harry went back upstairs, somewhat disturbed by the image. He suddenly wondered why Snape had kissed him. Was it simply to screw with his head, or something more?

Harry sat at the desk in his room for awhile, scrawling on parchment.

"I, Harry Potter, promise not to kill Draco Malfoy unless specifically requested to do so by the Ministry of Magic." That was perfect, as it left out maiming and did not specify which person at the Ministry must issue the request. Harry did have friends there. Unfortunately, none with sufficient rank to assist Harry with his Snape infestation.

As if conjured by the thought, Snape entered and set a cup of tea on the desk near Harry before putting both hands on Harry's shoulders. Harry stiffened.

"Relax, Potter, you're far too tense," Snape murmured. He rested his chin on the top of Harry's head. His hands began to massage the tight spots on Harry's shoulders and neck. "That will never do, you know. It completely leaves out bodily harm and does not specify who at the Ministry may issue the request. You'll have to be much more specific."

Harry angrily crumpled the parchment.

"I think I'll go to bed now," he said. "Alone."

Snape gave his shoulders a final squeeze.

"All right, but if you change your mind, I'll be right down the hall."

He went out in with a flash of cobalt blue and Harry prayed for strength.

ooOoo

Harry lurched out of a bizarre dream that involved a collection of pint-sized Voldemorts dancing in a circle around him while singing a children's song in high-pitched voices that still managed to sound jarringly evil.

He shook off the last vestiges of it when a cry rang through the house. Harry flung himself out of bed and automatically reached for his wand on the bedside table. His finger closed on nothing and he briefly cursed Snape on his way out the door. Another shout propelled him down the hall.

The door was open and Harry rushed inside, expecting to see Snape battling something, but the Ministry agent was alone in bed, thrashing. He cried out wordlessly with one hand outstretched as if trying to repel an attack.

For a moment, Harry wondered if an invisible menace assaulted him, but it appeared Snape was merely having a nightmare. A ghastly, petrifying nightmare, Harry amended as Snape cried out in torment.

Harry paused for only an instant. He knew firsthand about nightmares. Voldemort had brought on enough to keep Harry's subconscious busy for years. He went forward and put a knee on the bed to lean over and grab Snape's bare shoulders. He barely had time to hope the man wasn't completely unclothed before strong hands wrapped around his throat.

Harry shook the shoulders hard.

"Snape, wake up!" he cried, but his voice was muted by Snape squeezing.

"No!" Snape shouted at an unseen enemy. "I can't do it any more!"

"Snape!" The hands were tightening and Harry began to see dark spots dancing before his eyes. Harry let go Snape's shoulders and reached up to pry at the fingers on his neck. "Severus! Stop!" he breathed with the last of his air.

Harry was suddenly dragged over the bed and slammed against the mattress with Snape half-atop him. The black eyes looked like pits in the darkness and a curtain of hair fell over the pale face.

Harry stopped trying to pry Snape's hands away and reached up to grab a fistful of the hair. He gave it a swift yank. His lungs were starving for air and he pulled the dark mass sharply once more. A pall of blackness crept over him.

"Potter!"

The hands were immediately gone and Harry dragged in a lungful of sweet air. A coughing spasm shook him and he heard Snape's voice as if from a distance. "What are you doing here?"

"Nightmare," Harry choked through his raw throat. "You had… nightmare."

He felt Snape collapse on his chest.

"A nightmare," Snape repeated with an expelled breath. "God, yes." A quiver wracked his frame, followed by something that might have been a sob. Unwittingly, Harry's hand dropped to Snape's back in reassurance. Snape murmured, "I might have killed you."

"I'm all right," Harry said softly. His brow wrinkled in puzzlement when his hand on Snape's flesh encountered something odd. Harry moved his hand downward over a series of bumps and ripples. He felt Snape stiffen against him.

He tried to pull away as Harry explored the raised welts in growing horror. Harry's grip tightened.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked. Harry's mind recoiled from the possibilities. No simple accident could have caused the dreadful scars that adorned Snape's back. Severus shuddered.

"The legacy of my happy childhood," Snape said raggedly. Harry felt a wave of appalled pity at the thought of a child suffering such a fate. His own wretched childhood suddenly seemed like a stint in paradise.

Snape's head moved slightly against Harry's chest and his black hair slid silkily over Harry's shoulder. He felt Snape's hands tighten convulsively against his ribs.

"What were you dreaming about?" Harry asked quietly. Snape sighed.

"Just one of a thousand pleasant memories."

He raised his head and looked at Harry.

"You shouldn't have come to rescue me. I've done so many horrible things that defiling you won't even make the list."

With that, he levered himself up and seized Harry's lips in a bruising kiss.

5 

A part of Harry had known it was coming. The rational part berated him for entering the bedroom at all. The irrational element was glad he had. Snape's kiss contained an almost painful desperation and Harry responded to the black hole of solitude Snape had revealed; he felt the dark echo of it in his own soul.

Snape pulled back, obviously surprised at Harry's lack of resistance. Harry's lips curved sardonically.

"You don't want it unless I struggle?" he asked harshly. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"On the contrary. I merely expected you to… defy me to the last in your typical Gryffindor fashion. It would be a nice surprise to have you willing. I've wanted you for a very long time, you know."

Harry's face twisted in distaste and Snape laughed.

"No, not in school. Boys are not to my taste. It was when you fought Voldemort for the last time. I was there that day, Polyjuiced as a minor Ministry official. You stood on that hilltop like a young god finally grown into his power. It was a magnificent sight."

Snape pressed another kiss on his lips, not brutally this time, but gently, enticing, seeking a response. Harry tentatively touched his tongue to Snape's and felt a heady warmth spread through his body as they intertwined. Snape had a strangely pleasant taste; like peppermint and merlot.

"You taste so good," Snape murmured against Harry's mouth, echoing Harry's thoughts. "Let me touch you, Harry." His hand slowly caressed the length of Harry's bare chest and eased beneath the waistband of his pants. Harry's mind was screaming, but his body did not care—it trembled, reacting to the touch with eager anticipation. Snape wasn't waiting for permission anyway. Harry grew rock hard under the long fingers, before they even started to move. He whimpered under Snape's next stimulating kiss.

Severus slid sideways and Harry's suspicions were confirmed—he hadslept unclothed. Snape's rigid cock brushed against Harry's thigh as Snape levered himself over Harry. The feel of it was surprisingly erotic and Harry's breath hitched in his throat.

"It gets so much better than this, Potter," Snape murmured and Harry felt something warm and wet touch his anus. He jerked in surprised reaction and tensed when Snape's hard rod pressed against the opening. "Relax… I want to be inside you..."

Harry couldn't quite relax, but he couldn't quite resist either, since Snape's hand was still pulling, caressing, and stroking with maddening efficiency between their bodies. Harry cried out when Snape entered him with a single, almost painful, thrust. He nearly panicked and clawed his way out from under the Slytherin, but Severus held him tightly and thrust again, sending shockwaves of pleasure rocketing through Harry. He arched his back unconsciously and his fists clenched into the sheets, nearly tearing them from the bed.

Snape drove into him mercilessly and chanted, "Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Harry felt the pressure build to an indescribable level and he could make no sound other than animal gasps of horrified delight. Snape's kiss muffled Harry's scream when the crescendo exploded. He spasmed in Snape's hand and fluid cascaded between them, adding lubricant to Snape's continued movements until a moaning gasp and stiffening of his entire frame signaled Snape's release.

Severus collapsed against him and they both lay bonelessly panting in the aftermath. Harry felt bizarrely conflicted; an admixture of contentment and shame. Snape sighed deeply and Harry felt a thumb trace across his forehead, brushing his untamable hair aside.

"Go to sleep, Potter," Snape whispered. Incredibly, Harry did.

ooOoo

A raucous noise woke Harry and he blinked against the unexpected bright light. For a moment, his surroundings were completely disorienting—nothing looked familiar. An arm clenched across his midsection, adding to the unreality until his memory returned with a terrifying rush. He nearly whimpered aloud when he looked down to see Severus Snape's sleeping head nestled against his shoulder.

His blood pressure skyrocketed and he forced himself to remain calm and not give in to the need to hyperventilate. He counted to twenty and would have gone higher, probably into triple digits, if the sound of footsteps on the stairs hadn't jarred him from his task.

"Kreacher?" he whispered hopefully through a haze of panic, praying that one of his friends hadn't picked today to drop in for a surprise visit. He nearly fainted away in relief when the house-elf appeared in the doorway. His relief was short-lived.

"Nasty, hideous Master has a guest," Kreacher announced merrily and stepped aside to reveal an unwelcome sight at the best of times. At this particular moment, Harry thought it might have been a toss-up between seeing her or the Grim Reaper.

"Harry Potter!" Rita Skeeter purred. "I'm so sorry to…interrupt! Your house-elf told me to come upstairs." She didn't look one iota sorry. In fact, she looked like a starving cat that had just been dropped into a barrel full of slow mice. To Harry's horror, a photographer behind her began snapping photo after photo. Harry found himself trying to cover Snape and leap out of bed at the same instant, which merely resulted in Snape sitting up in surprise and Harry hauling half the blankets off the bed when he remembered he was naked. Rita smirked in glee. "Did you forget we had an interview this morning?"

"What interview?" Harry choked, sinking back into the bed weakly.

"Kreacher must have forgotten to put it on Master's calendar," Kreacher said with a wicked gleam in his evil eyes. "Kreacher will go punish himself right now!" The house-elf disappeared and Harry nearly gnashed his teeth in frustration. The house-elf would likely punish himself by cracking open a bottle of Harry's finest scotch and toasting himself to death.

"I say, damned rude to barge into a man's bedchamber," Snape huffed, sounding so un-Snapelike that Harry turned to stare at him in amazement.

"Rodney Snyder-Smythe," Rita purred, slamming the persona back into Harry's nonfunctional brain. "I didn't realize you and Harry wereinvolved."

"Well, I would appreciate it not becoming common knowledge, if it's all the same to you, Miss Skeeter," Snape suggested mildly.

Rita snapped her fingers and waved the photographer out.

"Of course, Rodney, dear," she purred. "I wouldn't dream of invading your privacy. Harry, I'll just reschedule our little interview and leave you two lovebirds alone. Ta, now!"

She scurried out and Harry could hear the excited clacking of her heels on the stairs before the front door slammed. He collapsed back against the pillows in an agony of dread. He could fairly hear the wheels screeching to a halt on the presses as she fled with the scoop of the year.

"I'm bloody ruined," Harry moaned. Snape slid out of bed and Accioeda dressing gown from the wardrobe.

"Surely it's not that bad," he said.

Harry scowled. "Not bad for you! You're not even Rodney Snyder-Smythe! Next week you could pop up somewhere else as Augustus St. Germaine or William O'Rourke! I can't stop being Harry Potter!"

Snape levitated a second dressing gown to Harry, who snatched at it before getting up and sliding modestly into it. He blushed furiously, noting that Snape watched him attentively the while, but the Slytherin said nothing. Harry scowled in puzzlement as he noticed something.

"The Bavarian Flu! It's completely gone. Not just lessened, but absolutely, utterly gone. I feel fine. No congestion, no headache, nothing!"

"You never had the Bavarian Flu, Potter. I lied. You had a bad cold and I dumped a Pepperup Potion into your wine last night. You're cured."

Harry stared blankly at the hated Slytherin for a moment, clearly aware that if one more nasty shock hit him he would have to be strapped to a broom and shipped straight to the psyche ward at St. Mungo's.

"Where is my wand?" he asked calmly. Snape seemed to sense the volumes of unspoken rage hidden beneath the quiet words, for he sidled toward the door.

"I think I'll go conjure up some breakfast," Snape said brightly and bolted.

"I think I'll go conjure up something to crack your skull with," Harry snarled to himself and stalked away to hunt for his wand. The Boy Who Lived had had enough.

6  

Harry methodically began to ransack his house. He started with the parlour, mainly because Snape was not in that particular room. He opened every drawer and rifled through the contents. He tore books from the shelves and left them lying on the floor. He yanked open cabinets and haphazardly shuffled the contents, knowing there was only a slim chance that Snape had hidden his wand therein. Most likely the bastard had tucked it into a pocket of whatever brightly colored robes he had chosen to wear.

The mere thought of searching through Snape's robes while he wore them made Harry oddly hot and cold at once. The memory of what Snape had done to him slammed to the forefront of his mind with a heady rush. Harry sagged onto the sofa and put his head in his hands for a moment.

He heard Snape in the kitchen, humming as he prepared breakfast. Humming, for the love of God! Harry felt hysterical laughter trying to escape and choked it down. Was it all another bloody game for Severus?

He stood and stormed into the kitchen. Snape glanced at him somewhat warily. The humming ceased. Snape had changed into robes, Harry noted. No bright colors today, but a pale grey with a silvery sheen. They actually looked quite handsome on him, though Harry wished to hell the idea had not occurred to him.

He sighed heavily and began his search anew in the kitchen, tearing out drawers and tossing them randomly on the kitchen floor after a glance at their contents. After the fourth drawer emptied with the crash of utensils, Snape grabbed the front of Harry's dressing gown in both fists and gave him a small shake.

"Potter, what are you doing?" he demanded.

"I want my wand. I need to hex you out of my house and out of my life." And out of my head, he added to himself.

"I already told you; finish your Unbreakable Vow and I will give you your wand and be gone," Snape said quietly. Harry refused to meet the black eyes, terrified of drowning in their dark depths. He forcibly stepped out of Snape's grip and walked back upstairs.

He threw on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt before curling onto the window seat and staring unseeing at the Muggle roofs below. He sighed and realized he had never really planned to do anything to Malfoy. Harry and Ginny had been finished long before Draco Malfoy had entered the picture. Harry had been married to Voldemort—so obsessed that there had been no room for anything else in his life.

Ginny had tried to wait for him, but his continuous shutting her out had caused countless arguments. She hated the fact that only Ron and Hermione had his true confidence, no matter what she tried. Harry thought she had turned to Malfoy in a desperate attempt to make Harry jealous. It had worked, but apparently far too late. She had actually fallen in love with the platinum-haired Slytherin bastard.

Harry sighed, feeling thoroughly depressed. He wasn't sure he'd really ever been in love with Ginny Weasley. He thought perhaps he'd been in love with the idea of being in love with her. He thought he had wanted the little house, children, pets—the whole stable family life. But not enough to actually put the idea into practice, apparently. Hell, maybe all he really wanted was another Voldemort; another chance to play the hero. It was easy for him and he rather missed the challenge.

He looked at the London rooftops and wished he could grab his broom and fly away, but it was far too light out. If he wanted to fly in the daytime, he should apply to join one of the professional Quidditch teams Ron was constantly haranguing him about.

Snape entered and set a breakfast tray on the desk.

"Write whatever you want for the Unbreakable Vow," Harry told him in a bored tone. "I'll sign it, or vow it, or whatever I need to do."

Harry sensed Snape's black eyes on him, but he didn't care. He heard the Ministry agent pick up a quill and scrawl on a piece of parchment. When he finished, Snape walked over to stand next to Harry's window seat. Harry vacated the spot and went to the desk.

The Daily Prophet was folded on the tray. Harry picked it up and opened it. Rita Skeeter had wasted no time. Harry's mostly-nude form gaped at him in horror and tried to cover himself while an expressionless Snape lay on the bed next to him. The headlines screamed: HARRY POTTER IN LOVE!

Harry refolded the paper and dropped it with a grimace, not bothering to read it. Truthfully, he had expected much worse. It wasn't the first time rumors about him had been bandied about the wizarding world; but this was the first time photographic evidence accompanied it. He ignored the breakfast Snape had brought up and turned his attention to the parchment. He barely skimmed the words that promised no harm to Draco Malfoy from Harry Potter. Harry didn't even care any more. He scrawled his signature on the bottom.

Snape sighed heavily and walked over to take the parchment as Harry tossed the quill aside. He rolled it up and tucked it into his silvery robe.

"Since you can't wait to be rid of me, I'll be going now. I'll send the Minister over later today with someone to Bond you to the Unbreakable Vow." Harry watched him expressionlessly and Snape's steady gaze was fathomless. His lips twisted in something that resembled chagrin and he continued, "I left your wand on the table downstairs."

Snape turned and walked toward the door, although he could haveDisapparated from anywhere in the house. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was no longer the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. It was no longer a secret. Snape paused in the doorway and looked at Harry with an earnest expression in his black eyes—the eyes that concealed enough hurt to kill a lesser man.

"Harry," he said softly. "For what it's worth… I never meant to hurt you."

And then he was gone.

ooOoo

Scrimgeour appeared later that afternoon with a dour-looking Ministry official in tow. Harry examined the strange man closely, wondering if Snape were Polyjuiced into yet another disguise, but the fellow barely glanced at Harry while Bonding him to the vow that would protect Draco Malfoy from well-deserved retribution. The Minister of Magic seemed satisfied when it was done and turned to leave. Harry stopped him.

"This was apparently done in order to protect the Ministry," Harry said flatly. "I'm letting you know right now, if you interfere in my life again, I will hunt you down, Ministry or no Ministry."

"Are you threatening me in front of a witness, Potter?" Scrimgeour blustered.

"You bet I am," Harry replied. Scrimgeour met his gaze evenly, but said nothing. Harry had always had an unspoken enmity with the Minister, but now he had declared outright war. Scrimgeour and the cheerless Bonder departed.

Harry lay awake that night feeling the emptiness of the house closing in around him. He missed the small sounds he'd grown used to in the past few days—Snape moving about downstairs or the chink of glasses and utensils. He even missed the humming. Unbidden, Snape's words kept sliding through his mind.

I've wanted you for a very long time. I never meant to hurt you.

Harry cursed and pounded a fist on the bed. Was he so fucking desperate for companionship that he missed Severus Snape? He made a mental note to go and visit some of his friends later in the week. Ron or Hermione or Neville Longbottom.

The problem was, none of them could possibly touch the nadir of despair that threatened to drown him lately. Only one person seemed to understand the darkness at the center of Harry's soul.

Only one.

ooOoo

When Harry walked into the Apothecary Shop, the only person in sight was a short, rather roundish witch waiting at the counter. She wore purple robes and a large pointy hat adorned with huge yellow flowers. And a hummingbird. It buzzed from flower to flower as Harry watched. She smiled absently at him.

Harry browsed the shelves, not seeing the various jars and bottles at all. He considered leaving. He wasn't even certain why he had come. It was possible Snape had not even continued with the Rodney persona. They could have assigned him a new identity by now.

Snape's voice, albeit with the odd Snyder-Smythe inflection, sounded from the back room.

"Here is your Bundimun secretion, Mrs. Murray. We should have the horned slugs in by the end of the week. If you'll wait a moment, I'll measure out your—" Snape's voice trailed off as he entered the room and caught sight of Harry. His eyes widened a bit, enough that even Mrs. Murray noticed. She turned to look at Harry and caught sight of his scar.

"By Circe, it's Harry Potter!" she breathed. "The actualHarry Potter!" She propelled herself forward and grabbed Harry's hand to give it a sprightly shake while the hummingbird zipped around Harry's head in a crazy spiral. Harry gave her his usual pleased-to-meet-you-get-the-hell-away-from-me smile. She stilled suddenly and looked back at Snape. Her mouth curled into an O.

"You and Rodney… I read about you in the paper! Oh my, you two would probably like some privacy. I'll just nip out and do some shopping. Come back later. Wait until Heloise hears I met Harry Potter!"

She released Harry and hurried toward the door. She turned back with the portal half-open and regarded them both with a happy sigh. "Such a cute couple," she gushed and fled.

Snape's eyes hadn't left Harry. He was dressed in forest green robes today. It seemed a depressing color for Rodney Snyder-Smythe. Severus walked to the shelves and began to rearrange tiny bottles.

"Did you come for revenge, Potter? Do you plan to Crucio me or something worse?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"I won't stop you. Do your worst." Snape's voice was heavy with something Harry had never heard from him before. What was it? Regret?

"Actually, I was looking for something. It's a particular type of mud. From Cork, I believe. It has healing properties."

Snape turned to stare at Harry as if he'd gone completely mad.

"What do you need it for?" Snape asked in a whisper. Harry stepped close to him.

"Someone I know has a large number of scars. I know the mud won't heal them… but it might make him feel better for awhile."

Snape's eyes slid shut and he tipped his head back as if trying to wake himself from a dream. Harry stepped even closer and reached a hand up to slide it behind Snape's neck. He felt a shiver jolt through Severus.

"What are you saying, Harry?" he asked hoarsely.

"The entire wizarding world thinks we're a couple now. I thought you might like to come home."

Before Snape could register the words, Harry leaned in and kissed him. He enjoyed the shocked moment of disbelief before the strong hands rose to grip Harry's shoulders and push him away. The black eyes were quickly hooded, but not before Harry caught the glimmer of vulnerability.

"Is this some horrible trick?" Snape asked.

Harry sighed deeply. "You caught me," he said in a dejected tone. Snape's hands tightened convulsively and Harry went on. "I'm out of biscotti and I need you to make more. I'm willing to do anything."

Snape stared at him and then his lips curved into a disbelieving grin. "Anything?"

Harry nodded. "I'll even suffer some of your home remedies."

The answering kiss nearly brought Harry to his knees.